How to Say I Love You Out Loud (16 page)

“These kids just really don’t belong here,” Dana speaks up. “I mean, this is supposed to be
the
best school district in the state, right? We’re on the
cover of
Philadelphia
magazine every year. But these are the stories that never get talked about. Like how they’re allowing the school to be turned into a loony bin.”

Leighton nods her head in agreement. “Well, I told my parents about it, for one. And I told Alex to make sure his dad knows exactly what’s been happening, too. He’s on the
school board—he has to be able to do something.”

Again, I swear I feel her gaze shift in my direction.

For just one second, I wish I had the balls to look up and meet her head-on.

You don’t need to do anything
, I want to tell her.
He’ll be out of here before you even know. Just let it go.

There’s something else I’d really like to tell her, too.

And Alex will never help you, not the way you want him to.

He’s in the process of building a playground for kids with disabilities and she thinks she can rally him to get my brother booted out of school as quickly as possible.

She doesn’t know him at all. I remember what he confessed, and just for a second, I allow myself to feel self-satisfied.

But she manages to ruin everything, like always.

As she stands up and pushes in her chair to leave, her shoulders are square and her voice is resolute. “Don’t worry about it,” she promises Dana. “I’m not going to
let this go. I know the parents don’t know what’s going on, and it’s annoying that it’s just allowed to happen.” She shakes her head. “That’ll
change.”

I am suddenly nauseated. Leighton is determined, and when she is determined, she gets what she wants.

Please let it go, Leighton
, I beg silently.
Just please let it go.

I drag my feet following the crowd to the counter, where we pay our checks one by one. I shake my head when Erin offers me a strawberries-and-cream lollipop and buy a pack of Tums instead.

I’m not in a good mood heading toward homeroom. I have a sick feeling in my stomach that persists all day.

Whispering, by definition, is meant to be both quiet and private. So I suppose there are plenty of people in this world who are able to go about their business, oblivious to
when others nearby are whispering to one another.

I’m not one of those people. My whisper radar developed at an early age, right along with my staring monitor. It doesn’t matter how low people keep their voices or how they make
every attempt at discretion. When people whisper anywhere in my vicinity, I know it.

I’m sitting in the middle of the bus on the way to our game against Lower Merion, with Erin in the seat beside me. Plenty of my teammates are carrying on loud conversations and
“Let’s Get It Started” is blasting out of a giant boom box right behind us. Neither the chatter nor the pulsing beat can drown out the whispering, though.

I glance over my shoulder toward the seniors in the back of the bus, searching for the source. I see heads bent together, in clusters of twos and threes, hands covering mouths. Every once in a
while a head pops up above the seat, meerkat style, before ducking down again. I catch furtive glances and hear giggles that grow too loud before the giggler is promptly shhed.

Yep, I definitely know when someone is being whispered about, and before long, I start to get the sense that that someone is me. I observe without letting on that I’m doing so, and more
than once, when I see eyes dart above or around the back seats of the bus, I catch them looking in my direction. My throat turns to sawdust and my stomach turns a somersault.

It’s a god-awful feeling, being whispered about.

Before I can think about reaching for the half-eaten pack of Tums in the pouch of my hoodie, I look up to find Leighton hovering above us, holding on to the back of the seat to steady herself on
the moving bus.

She smiles sweetly and talks to Erin, but her eyes never leave mine. “Erin, can you switch places with me for a hot minute? I need to talk to Jordyn real quick.”

My best friend flies out of the seat without any further consideration of my overall well-being—thank you
so much
, Erin—and Leighton eases down beside me. She is still
staring at me, eyes cool and appraising, her mouth a thin, disapproving line.

I’ve been nervous since the conversation about Phillip this morning, but all of a sudden it occurs to me that Leighton could be here to confront me about something else entirely. Leighton
could be here about Alex.

My stomach becomes a U.S. Olympic gymnast competing in a floor routine to take the all-around gold medal.

I take a final look toward the back of the bus, and realize that all attempts at discretion have gone straight out the window. Some girls hang blatantly over seats and the remaining faces peer
around the sides of them. Conversations have been abandoned. Everyone is watching, and listening, and it’s pretty much my worst nightmare.

Leighton reaches up and adjusts her ponytail, like this is a casual, friendly exchange. “So were you ever going to step up and be honest?”

I am still picturing myself in that Dr. Seuss bathroom, my face only inches from her boyfriend’s, and as I fumble for some sort of rational explanation, she catches me off guard with her
follow-up.

“Why didn’t you speak up this morning?” she demands. “I mean, you could have
said
that I was talking about your brother, for Christ’s sake.”

My stomach stops in the middle of its tumbling pattern and turns to ice. I feel every last pair of eyes on the back of my head, which feels like it’s on fire, in total contrast to the pit
of my stomach.

“What do you mean?” I mumble.

Leighton laughs once, a miffed little huff. “What do you
mean
, what do I mean? Again, not trying to be a bitch or anything, but the rest of us have rights, too. I just wanted to
find out the kid’s name, so I could talk to my parents about the problem. A name’s not really a secret, and Mr. Karzanski told me.” She pauses and raises her shoulders
expectantly. “So? Phillip Michaelson. He’s your brother, right? Or at least a cousin or something?”

It’s surreal hearing Phillip’s full name coming out of Leighton’s mouth. Somehow, even in the midst of my worst fears about his presence at my school, I never actually thought
I’d be sitting across from her, with his name on her lips.

There’s really nothing left to do, nothing left to protect.

So I meet her eyes. “He’s my brother.”

Her big blue eyes widen, like she was maybe expecting me to refute the information she’d been given. “Seriously? And you didn’t speak up when I was going on and on about him
this morning? Why wouldn’t you say something?” She glances around at all the other girls. “Now I feel like a total idiot.”

Like this is about her more than it’s about me.

Like she cares, like she regrets how she talked about Phillip.

Even if he weren’t my brother, he would be someone’s. She hadn’t talked about him like a human being, but she sure was putting on a good show now. What a
decent
person
Leighton Lyons is.

She crosses her arms on her chest and shakes her head. “I don’t get it. I’d never let anyone talk about my family that way.”

Leighton has younger twin sisters, Lydia and Lola, who seem just as beautiful and accomplished and perfect as she is. Leighton has no idea.

I refuse to let her shame me and keep my chin up. “It’s different,” I squeak. I wait until my voice is stronger before speaking again. “It’s private.”

“With all due respect?” she smirks. “It kinda stopped being private when he started shucking his clothes in full view of my calc class, Jordyn.” She shakes her head a
final time. “I just wish you’d said something. Like I said, I feel really stupid now, talking about him while his sister was sitting
right there
.”

You should feel stupid anyway. It should have felt wrong, the things you were saying, regardless of who was listening.

She stands up before I can respond, before I can actually muster the courage to say the words that are pounding against my temples. She lingers a final moment, staring down at me. “I mean,
you’re
such
good friends with my boyfriend, right? I don’t get why you wouldn’t be honest with me.”

Leighton gives me a final look before returning to her seat, one that speaks volumes, one that tells me someone has indeed told her about Alex and me at the park. I’m certain she is aware
there is plenty I haven’t been honest with her about, and she wants me to know that she knows.

I’m suddenly pretty sure that her motive in confronting me on the bus, publicly identifying me as the sister of “the cray-cray kid,” has more to do with Alex than it has to do
with Phillip.

I’m officially exposed in every sense of the word.

My cheeks on fire with embarrassment, shame, and something akin to fear, I turn to face the seat before me, counting the silent seconds until Leighton has returned to the back of the bus.

It’s my worst game of the season. My body is sluggish and clumsy, maybe because my brain is too distracted to effectively coordinate quick and accurate movements. I trip
over my feet and allow the ball to be stolen from me. Coach calls for a substitution way before the first half ends, which is something I’m not used to, and I hang my head as I jog off the
field.

In contrast to my pitiful performance, Leighton’s is stellar. She’s on fire on offense, and scores three goals in the same amount of time it takes me to get pulled from the game. Our
tense, awkward exchange on the bus seems to have fueled her and depleted me in equal amounts. Which really isn’t fair.

I spend the second half of the game sitting the bench and feeling crummy. It’s a cold late-fall afternoon, and after working up a sweat when I’m actually
in
the game, my
clothes are damp and leave me chilled. I hunch over, trying to warm my hands in the flimsy material of my plaid kilt. I leave them twisted in the material to keep from biting my nails and revealing
the frazzled state of my nerves.

I don’t even know what to worry about first. I feel my eyes fill, knowing I can’t really blame the tears on the sudden wind that is whipping across the open field. I wipe them away
before anyone can see because it’s not an option to sit here and cry in front of Leighton.

The second half passes, Leighton secures the victory for our squad, and the bulk of the team seems elated as we head back to the bus. I linger near the back of the group and soon realize that
one other person seems pretty miserable right along with me. Erin.

Not that she’s talking to me, or even looking at me.

When we board the bus, Erin chooses a different seat from the one we shared on the ride here, near the JV players in the front. I’m eager to stay as far away from Leighton as possible, but
I suspect something else is motivating Erin’s relocation.

She spreads her belongings across the seat—clearly she’s not looking for company—but I squeeze myself onto the edge of the seat anyway, my hockey stick bumping my knees every
time someone tries to pass us. Erin continues to ignore me, staring gloomily at the back of the vinyl seat in front of us until the engine roars to life and the full bus lumbers forward.

I wait until we are on the highway, and then I turn toward her and put my hand on her forearm. “Erin?”

She twists away and folds her arms over her chest. She still won’t look at me. “Is this the real reason why we never hang out at your house? All the other reasons you’ve said,
were they all just lies?”

I inhale a deep breath, thinking before I answer. “Yes and no.” I stare down at my lap and start mumbling. “But, yeah, it’s really hard to have people over with Phillip
there.”

The words sound silly coming out, because it’s really not difficult to have people around Phillip when he’s at home. If he has his headphones on and his gaming system is powered up,
he’s happy as a clam.

Erin finally looks at me, her eyes hard and appraising. “So
no one
else knew? Not Tanu? Not Alex? How could you honestly keep something like this a secret for so long?”